Lean on Me
by EarendilElwing
Summary: Steve McGarrett may be a badass when it comes to injuries, but not so much when he's sick. Lucky for him, he has Danny.


Lean on Me

Ice chips? Check. Saltines? Check. Electrolyte sports drink? Check. Ginger ale? Check.

Detective Danny Williams nodded to himself and gathered up the tray of flu essentials. Walking slowly so as not to drop or spill anything, he made his way to the bedroom, where agonized moans could be heard through the door.

He knocked once, though it was a rather pointless gesture - Steve was in no condition to ambush him in some sort of misguided attempt to seduce him. Without waiting for a response, Danny pushed the door open with his shoulder and backed in.

Commander Steve McGarrett lay shivering under a mound of blankets and quilts, his colorless face barely peaking out at the head of the bed. He tossed and turned uncomfortably, groaning in a way that had Danny convinced he was being a little overdramatic.

He rolled his eyes at Steve as he set the tray on the bedside table. "Honestly McGarrett, I've seen you get shot, stabbed, beaten and tortured and never once have I heard you complain. Super SEAL 'I'm-not-bleeding-to-death-so-let's-go-jump-off-a-building' and all that. But one little stomach bug, and you turn into the biggest baby I've ever seen. Charlie behaved better than you."

"Charlie had a loving, supportive parent to take care of him," Steve gripped, opening his eyes enough to glare at him.

Danny sat down on the bed next to Steve. "And you have a loving, supportive partner taking care of you right now. Come on, babe. I need you to try to sit up for a bit - see if we can't get some liquids in you."

Steve shifted his body into the requested position while Danny moved a few pillows behind his back to help prop him up.

As soon as he was settled, Steve reached for the ginger ale, desperate for something to drink. Danny smacked his hand away. "Nope. Gotta start small, buddy; don't want you throwing it all up right away." He gestured to the bowl of ice chips instead and the accompanying spoon.

Rather than accepting it, Steve leaned back against the pillows, pulled the blankets up to his neck, and opened his mouth expectantly.

Danny arched his brows and sighed. "Really, Steven?" Nevertheless, he dipped the spoon into the ice chips and held it up for Steve.

His lips closed around the spoon and Steve sucked the chips into his mouth. Danny was momentarily reminded of several other instances where such an exchange happened under different circumstances, with a far more - amorous - intent, but none of that existed right now. Steve's complexion was beyond pale, and a thin sheen of sweat shone on his brow. He was exhausted from throwing up all night, and he couldn't seem to get warm, no matter how many blankets Danny spread over him. He was utterly incapacitated.

"You know," Danny began as he continued to feed him, "I find it ironic that in all those years of top secret missions into the most disease-infested jungles, you've never once gotten any kind of exotic or deadly illness, but after only a few hours with Charlie in the house and no direct contact, you manage to catch the common stomach flu. How does that work?"

"Sheets…" Steve murmured around his ice.

"Pardon?"

Steve swallowed the water with some difficulty. "You told me to change Charlie's bed sheets after he left."

Danny shook his head. "No… I merely said the sheets needed to be changed after he threw up all over them. I did NOT ask _you_ to do that. I certainly did not imply that you should do so without wearing the proper protective gear, or that you should even enter the room before I had a chance to disinfect it. If I had wanted your help, I would have asked for it. You would know that if you had bothered to listen to me."

At any other time, Steve would have snapped back with some retort of his own; the fact that he didn't even try spoke volumes about how sick he was feeling.

Danny's expression softened just a fraction. He should probably dial back the teasing. His best friend really was in bad shape, not life-threatening by any means, but there was absolutely nothing fun about the flu. Also, Danny wasn't really much better - when it came to injuries anyway. That's where they differed; Steve could go full throttle even while riddled with bullets, but he was useless if he got sick, whereas Danny would complain to anyone who would listen if he so much as got a papercut, but he could push through a head cold or any other virus-related ailment with ease.

The difference likely came from their respective backgrounds. Steve's SEAL training had ingrained in him a drive to complete his missions, whatever the stakes. Danny, as a long time single parent, couldn't exactly take a day off from fatherhood if he was feeling under the weather. And in both scenarios, they had been alone for so long, with no one to support them or take care of them.

But now they had each other. And while tending to his sick boyfriend was not high on his list of relaxing Sunday activities, it warmed his heart a little that Steve trusted him enough to take care of him in such a weakened state.

Not that he had much choice in the matter.

After Steve had consumed the entire bowl of ice chips without getting queasy, Danny retrieved the saltines and ginger ale. "Think you're up for something a little more substantial?"

Steve nodded once, but Danny could see from his expression that he was hesitant. He hated to have to do this without knowing whether or not his friend's stomach could handle it, but if they didn't get some more fluids in him, they might have to go to the hospital. At least there, he could be given an I.V. to treat his dehydration. Yet Danny knew that Steve hated being in the hospital for _any_ amount of time; if he had to be on bedrest, he'd rather be at home.

"Okay." Danny counted out five saltines. "Let's go with these and wait, oh... let's say thirty minutes. If they don't come back up, we'll do a few more along with some broth. Sound good?"

As with the ice, Danny fed him the saltines one-by-one, with a modest sip of ginger ale between each. Once they were gone, he helped Steve lay back down. "Alright… there we go. I'm going to clean up the kitchen and take care of a few other chores. I'll be back to check up on you in a half hour, okay babe?"

Steve grunted once and closed his eyes. He curled up as small as he possibly could and burritoed the blankets around his body. Danny tucked him in and left the room as quietly as he could.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the sound of labored retching interrupted Danny's contented laundry-folding. He dropped a towel back into the basket and hurried back to the bedroom.

He knew what to expect when he came into the room, but it still broke his heart to see his partner so afflicted. Steve was half off the bed, vomiting into the waste bucket that had been strategically placed near him for just this occasion. So much for the saltines.

Danny rushed to his side to help steady him. He placed one hand on the rim of the bucket to hold it, while the other stroked Steve's back to ease his discomfort. The smell and the noise of the process made him gag, but he did not withdraw.

Once Steve had successfully evacuated every crumb and ounce of liquid in his stomach, he collapsed back onto the mattress, panting from the exertion and drenched in cold sweat.

Danny set aside the bucket, making a mental note to rinse out its contents later, and went to get a washcloth from the bathroom. He moistened it with hot water, and then returned to Steve's side, using it to wipe away the sticky sweat.

"Well, that didn't go as well as I'd hoped," he mumbled. He continued to mop Steve's brow while simultaneously trying to stretch the blankets back over him. "Steve? How we doing, buddy?" He did his best to keep his tone even, but he couldn't quite stop the worry from seeping into his voice.

The only response he got was a low moan.

Danny sighed and reached for the sports drink. "I know this sucks, but let's try a little something again, just to soothe your throat. You can take a nap after and we'll see about the other stuff when you wake up."

He coaxed Steve into accepting the aforementioned drink and then rearranged the blankets around him for the upteempth time. He was just about to get up and return to his chores, when Steve latched onto the edge of his shirt.

"Stay," he whispered.

Danny was sorely tempted to admonish him about acting a bit childish again (in retaliation for all the times Steve razed _him_ over his knee or his other various McGarrett-related injuries), but he thought better of it. It'd be fair game after he was fully recovered, but for now, Danny would be the dutiful boyfriend.

Besides, and he probably never admit this to him, but he thought it was somewhat endearing, and rather nice actually, to be needed by the man he had come to love so deeply.

"As you wish, Commander," he conceded. Careful not to jostle him too much, Danny settled himself next to Steve. He sat upright with a pillow behind his own back, then pulled his aching lover close, shifting him so that Steve's head was cradled in his lap.

Danny rested one arm around Steve's side, hoping to provide a little bit more warmth, and stroked the SEAL's short hair with the other.

After a few minutes of silence, Steve turned his head to look up at him. "Danny?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Sing something."

Danny's hand stilled. Steve must be even worse off than he thought. He'd had to do some odd things in the line of duty throughout their long relationship, but asking for him to sing was definitely a first. "Excuse me?"

"Sing for me?"

Danny fidgeted and resumed petting his partner. "Steve, in the seven years we've been together, when have I ever given you the impression that I'm even _capable_ of singing?"

"You sang for Charlie."

"Charlie is my _child_ ," Danny snorted. "It's sort of in the job description."

Steve exhaled and closed his eyes. "But he got better after that."

"And so of course - for some reason that's completely beyond me - you assume there's a correlation between those two things? He got better because he got plenty of rest, which is exactly what you need to keep doing. And in the future, perhaps you'll listen to me when I tell you to relax and take a day off as well. How long have I been telling you that lazy Sundays are essential for the immune system? But oh no! When there isn't a case, you decide to go out on some sort of crazy adventure that inevitably ends up with one of us getting shot."

"Or naked," Steve chuckled through the haze.

Danny cleared his throat. "Or naked," he agreed. "But getting back on point, you'll only get better if you go to sleep... right _now_."

"Sure," Steve grumbled. "But… I'll _feel_ better if you sing. Please?"

Danny groaned and let his head fall back and hit the headboard. "Ugh! Fine. But this stays between us, you hear me? I don't want the rest of Five-0 getting wind of this."

Steve hummed and drew his blankets closer. That was about as close as Danny was going to get for an actual promise.

Danny cursed under his breath, but after a few minutes of contemplation, he began to hum. After a few measures, he transitioned into actual words, keeping his voice low and steady while trying not to feel like an idiot.

Fortunately, it got less awkward as he went. He sang one song completely through, then paused to see if Steve had fallen asleep.

He hadn't, but he well was on his way. He tugged on Danny's shirt. "I like that one. Again…" he insisted.

"Once more, and that's it," Danny warned. "I've still got other stuff to get done around the house, you know.

"Mmmm… okay." Steve relaxed further in Danny's embrace. After a beat, he added, "Love you, Danno."

Danny couldn't stop the goofy grin from spreading across his face at that. He bent forward to kiss Steve on the forehead. "Love you too, Steven. Now go to sleep."

* * *

Thanks for reading!


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